


hydrogen peroxide

by miamihorror



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: bff shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 13:26:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1859670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miamihorror/pseuds/miamihorror
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After several years of growing up in the same neighbourhood, attending the same middle and high schools, and even being convinced to pursue volleyball, Kenma should have really known better than to involve himself with anything that Kuroo labels as ‘a good idea’.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hydrogen peroxide

**Author's Note:**

> i thought that this would be something that kuroo and kenma would do together on a whim, so here it is! i really enjoy the interaction between these two so this is also my way of showing that. thanks for reading in advance!

After several years of growing up in the same neighbourhood, attending the same middle and high schools, and even being convinced to pursue volleyball, Kenma should have really known better than to involve himself with anything that Kuroo labels as ‘a good idea’.

                         

How Kenma ended up in the old maroon shirt he thought he would never wear again, complete with dried up, brown stains from his previous bleaching, is still not processing in his brain. Why he’s sitting on a stool under the shadow created by the afternoon sun, facing his bathroom mirror along with Kuroo, who is reading hair-bleaching methods to under his breath from his phone, is an even bigger mystery shrouded by the questions of the universe. How Kuroo even managed to find the necessary tools and items for bleaching hair is beyond Kenma’s comprehension, along with several other acts and slip-ups under Kuroo’s name that Kenma chose not to remember.

 

This, unsurprisingly, was going to be one of those events.

 

Kuroo, he’s learned over the years, was a man of words. He knew the right combination of words and phrases that would melt right off his tongue and persuade any other party. So the fib of how “Kenma doesn’t trust me with his hair, so he doesn’t trust me at all!” would float into the ears of every student in Nekoma, including the team, which would most likely result into complaints from his teammates (“Why is Kuroo-san so much more annoying nowadays?” or “Do something about him Kenma, aren’t you two childhood friends or whatever?”), and cause Kenma to eventually dysfunction from the pressure.

 

Theoretically, Kenma could just kick him out of his house like usual and they could forget about the whole thing. He would forgive Kuroo for forcing his way through the front door on a rare Saturday off, shouting a quick greeting to his parents, and dragging him up the stairs with one hand, a plastic bag full of unknown items in the other. He’ll even forget about how Kuroo rummaged through his dresser to produce his ‘dye’ shirt and how he threw it at his still-sleepy face, telling him to get changed and come to the bathroom as soon as he was done. He would even be as willing as to be kind enough to let the fact that Kuroo rearranged the whole bathroom system to ease access to the packets, bottles, tub, and brush slide.

 

Even after several threats of disemboweling him with a spoon, Kuroo did not take no for an answer.

 

Kenma really should have known better.

 

“I don’t understand you’re so intent on this,” Kenma says, clicking his tongue as ‘GAME OVER’ mocks him in black, bold font on his PSP screen. “This is a waste of time and money. My hair’s just going to grow back out and it’ll be like it was before.”

 

Kuroo looks up at him from his phone, his lips pursed with determination. “Aw c’mon you killjoy, just let me do this,” he urges, the excitement in his voice distinct. He strides over to Kenma, examining a lock of his hair from the crown of his head with nimble fingers. “How you still managed to do it by yourself is still beyond my understanding.”

 

“A lot of things are beyond your understanding, just pointing that out,” Kenma says, swatting his hand away with practiced ease, a small frustrated grunt audible from the back of his throat. He smoothes his hair back in place, the dry and brittle texture familiar under this palm, and he hears Kuroo scoff beside him in mock offense.

 

“Oh, you wound me, setter-kun,” Kuroo jeers, his eyes returning to the step-by-step procedure on his phone. “You’re still not getting out of this.”

 

Kenma huffs in defeat and shifts his attention back to his game, switching around the buttons with accuracy. The light of the screen adds an eerie glow to his grimace, intensifying the bags under his eyes and the slight furrow of his brows.

 

This was Kuroo’s idea of fun; this was his form of wasting energy.

 

“It says that the first step is to start with healthy hair, and to avoid dyeing or processing your hair in the months prior to bleaching,” Kuroo recites. He and Kenma share a knowing glance, and Kenma emits a sound of similar to the one he makes during trigonometry, as if to say ‘I don’t know what the fuck that means and neither do you.’ He catches the reflection of Nekoma’s volleyball captain in the bathroom mirror, chewing on the inside of his cheek in concentration. Kuroo’s nose is scrunched up, very much like when he fails to do a proper receive, with one hand propped on his hip.

 

“I’m telling you now,” Kenma starts, his eyes flickering back to the screen. “If I lose hair, I’m ready to sue you.”

 

Holding up his hands in mock offense, Kuroo spares him a smile, the Chesire Cat expression too fitting on his face. “Hey now, where’s the trust?”

 

Kenma rolls his eyes and flips him the bird, Kuroo returning the gesture with glee. He reaches to open the bathroom window, a warm breeze rushing into the compact space. “It’s so we don’t breathe in the fumes,” Kuroo explains to Kenma as if it was his first time with the procedure. Fishing out a pair of latex gloves from the plastic bag, he fits them over his hands with a satisfying snap.

 

“Just leave it to your best friend,” Kuroo coos. “You’re in good hands.”

 

+

 

Those words were not to be trusted, especially when coming from one Kuroo Tetsurou.

 

In the span of half an hour, Kuroo had managed to scatter bleach powder after sniffing it, causing him to sneeze and drop the container, and fill the room with a white cloud, spill the baby blue mixture of bleach powder and crème developer on the bathroom counter, misread at least a third of the instructions on the procedure, all with a string of cusses following each incident.

 

Frightened is an acceptable word for how Kenma feels towards his suddenly shortened life span.

 

Kenma blinks as Kuroo dips the brush into the tub containing the mixture and stirs it around, coating the bristles evenly. “It says to work from the tips towards the roots, making sure to avoid rubbing into the scalp,” he reads, squinting the small font on his phone into focus. “That should be easy enough.”

 

Kuroo slathers the concoction onto Kenma’s pale hair with the brush in even strokes, enveloping each strand in the cream. Fidgeting under the cold, familiar sensation of the mixture on his hair, Kenma feels a shiver go down his spine and spreading all the way to the tips of his toes. He eyes the dust in the corner of the room, swirling under the stream of sunlight, and listens to quiet exchange of oxygen and carbon dioxide filling in the silence between them. Time slips by in the form of childhood stories and practice woes along with the occasional insult and jab at each other, menace absent in their voices. Kenma notes that only an eighth of his hair requires the mixture when he simultaneously hears a sharp inhale from Kuroo, towering over him and working with the front section of his hair, along with the feeling of the bristles against his right eyebrow, and dread sinks to the bottom of his stomach.

 

“Don’t tell me you just did what I think you did,” Kenma says, panic injecting into his voice in small doses. “Is there bleach on my eyebr–”

 

“Nothing’s on it,” Kuroo reassures him, his voice going up an octave. “It’s no big deal, just a little streak. Don’t worry.” The slight quiver of his lip tells Kenma otherwise and he reaches past him to grab the handheld mirror lying on the counter to investigate the damage on his eyebrow. He gapes at the absurd amount of the goop on his eyebrow, about two-thirds of it painted in the chemical.

 

Kuroo pauses to peer into his friend’s face, his expression half-apologetic, half-amused. “So I guess I’ll have to bleach your eyebrows too,” he says in delight, a laugh threatening to escape his throat. “Unless you want that pop idol look.”

 

“This has to be one of the stupidest things that has ever happened to me,” Kenma punctuates each word, arms folded in agitation. “I could be beating the last level in my game, but instead I’m stuck here with you.”

 

“Stingy.”

 

“Don’t talk to me.”

 

Kuroo spares him a sly grin as he dabs the brush onto Kenma’s eyebrows and resumes coating the hair in swift and precise brush strokes, finishing up within ten minutes of their slight hiccup. Glancing at his phone for confirmation of the steps, he surrounds the wet hair with cling wrap and sets a timer for fifteen minutes. He keeps an eye on Kenma’s roots and eyebrows for his friend’s preferred shade, wiping away the mixture to check and reapplying more of the mixture back afterwards. The honey colour settles into his eyebrows briefly after the application, the sharp sting of the chemical frying his hair a known sensation to Kenma, and Kuroo carefully pats the concoction off them with a moist towel. Curly wisps of smoke appear from his hair after the constant sizzling and Kuroo scrambles in alarm from the countertop to unravel the plastic off of Kenma’s hair and guide him to the porcelain tub.

 

“Rinse your hair with this everyday – it’s made for bleached hair,” Kuroo hands him a green bottle labeled with large, cursive font along with several other hair care products foreign to Kenma. He gives a tiny nod in understanding and allows Kuroo to hold the shower head over his hair as he lathers the sweet smelling shampoo into it, the cold water bringing relief to his burning scalp. Watching as the water streaming from his head turns from white to clear, Kuroo ensures all the chemical had washed out by running his hand through the blanch hair and wraps up with a quick towel rub. 

 

Shuffling to his room, Kenma collapses on his bed with a satisfied sigh. “That should have not taken as long as it should have,” he muffles into the mattress.

 

“Did you hate it that much?” he hears Kuroo chuckle from somewhere behind him, the wheels of his favourite office chair squeaking as he drags himself beside Kenma. “Sorry for forcing you,” he says, a palm mussing his already unkept sunflower locks.

 

Kenma scoffs and whacks Kuroo’s hand away in exchange of running his own through his unexpectedly smooth hair. Inspecting a bright section between his fingers, he lets it flutter down across the bridge of his nose and turns to face his friend when he sees feet in front of his nose, toes wiggling nonchalantly. Swiping them off his bed, Kenma lets out a sound of protest when Kuroo moves to drape himself perpendicular to his friend, enveloping him in his lanky frame. After several minutes of wriggling in an attempt to escape and Kuroo’s fist grinding into his skull, he huffs indignantly and adjusts to the weight on top of him.

 

“Thanks for doing it,” Kenma tells him, hushed, from under Kuroo’s torso. Kuroo raises his head from the tabby cat plush Kenma keeps beside his pillow, the one he got him for Christmas as a joke. “And for the hair stuff too,” he continues, his voice suddenly taking on an affectionate tone. “You’re an ok person once in a while.”

 

Kuroo stares at his work, the sheen of the curtain of hair separating him and Kenma reflecting onto the walls. “No problem bud,” he responds, resting his chin atop his head and draping his arms around Kenma’s narrow shoulders. He inhales the mixture of the shampoo and the bleach from the hair, savouring the sting in the back of his nose. “Now you’ll let me win during game night, right?”

 

“I take it back, you’re still a stupid rooster.”

**Author's Note:**

> and then kuroo tries to take selfies of them together but they all turn out blurry bc kenma keeps swiping his phone away but he manages to take one where he’s wearing the cockiest grin and kenma has just looked up from his psp and he posts it on every social media account he has after promising kenma that he wouldn’t with a caption that reads "BFFLS 5EVER" im sorry


End file.
